


Methos Chronicles 21

by Helis_von_Askir



Series: Methos Chronicles [21]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helis_von_Askir/pseuds/Helis_von_Askir
Summary: His first meeting with Marique.
Relationships: Methos/Original Character
Series: Methos Chronicles [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350058
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Methos Chronicles 21

Two figures hurried through the downpour that threatened to flood Amsterdam. Reaching the door of one of the old houses lining the canal they almost fell inside.

“Blood storm.” Marique muttered under her breath, shaking her head like a dog and spraying water from her long hair everywhere, most of it onto Methos.

Methos just shrugged. “It’s just water. Sandstorms are worse.”

“At least you don’t get wet in them.” Marique pointed out.

“But you can suffocate.” Methos told her.

“Whatever. I’m taking a long hot shower, seeing as I’m already wet and all. Are you coming along?” Marique headed straight to the bathroom shedding sodden clothes as she went.

Methos smiled and hurried after her. “Thought you’d never ask.”

A long shower later they sat in front of the TV and enjoyed a dinner made of leftovers. They were watching some historical drama and made fun of all the mistakes the producers had made when the lights suddenly went out.

“Oh, come on.” Methos grumbled. “They were just getting at the good stuff.”

“No, they weren’t, you’re just annoyed that your modern conveniences aren’t working anymore.” Marique said calmly.

“Well, I damn well earned them, didn’t I?” Methos asked with mock indignation.

“Sure you do.” Marique assured him. “But maybe, just maybe, you can remember how you used to spent rainy nights in the long gone past.” She slowly ran her hands up his legs.

Mehtos smiled at her in the darkness, only illuminated by flashing lightning every few seconds. “Maybe. But I could use a few pointers.”

Marique raised her eyebrows. “Hmm, pointers. Like this?” She slipped on hand under his short running it over his chest.

“Just like this.” Methos agreed, his own hand sneaking to the hem of her sweater and quickly pulling it up and off of her. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath and Methos stared to kiss the skin between her breasts.

“Hmm, that’s nice,” Marique moaned, “But could you move to one side or other, just a bit?”

Methos grinned up at her and ran his tongue over her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Marique arched into him and he used the opportunity to slip her sweatpants off, again she wore nothing underneath. “Kinky.” He muttered against her skin.

Marique chuckled. “Always be prepared.”

Methos snorted and dipped one finger into her. She was warm and wet and he couldn’t wait to be inside her. Marique seemed to be equally impatient a she sneaked her hand into his pants and grabbed his already hard cock. A few moments of shuffling he sank into her while she kissed him deeply.

He thrusted into her with a fervor and she met him stroke for stroke and it didn’t take them long to reach their peaks. They kept lying on the couch for a while longer, enjoying the afterglow until Methos stood up holding out his hand. “Shall we give the bed a try?”

Marique took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Do or do not, there is no try.”

“Oh, please tell me you didn’t just quote Yoda to me.” Methos groaned. “I love the little guy but I don’t need him in my thoughts when I’m about to have mind-blowing sex.”

They didn’t go out of bed until late in the morning when they had to get up because MacLeod and Joe were coming to Amsterdam for a tour of the newly renovated Rijksmuseum. It had been reopened just a few months ago and Methos had wanted to see the new exhibition for himself. The others had kind of invited themselves along.

“Don’t you have several Dutch masters in your possession already?” Marique had asked when he had brought the idea up. That had picked the interest of MacLeod and Dawson quite a bit but Methos had no intention of showing off any of his painting collection.

“Yeah, so? I want to see the others.” Methos replied dismissively.

Marique had merely smiled and given him a quick kiss.

So here they were waiting in front of the museum, waiting for the others to arrive. At least the weather had cleared up and the sun was out.

Because of Joe’s disability they were spared the long line of visitors waiting to get inside. A very polite employee led them to a side-entrance where an elevator for wheelchairs and other handicapped people had been installed. The young man even asked if Joe would prefer to enjoy the exhibition using one of the museum’s own wheelchairs. Joe had declined sounding only the tiniest big annoyed.

“Oh, lighten up, Joe. He was just trying to be nice.” Methos said when he saw Joe’s face.

“I know, but really, I’m not that old or infirm. I can walk perfectly fine.” Joe told him still miffed.

“Of course you can, but that kid can’t know that, can he?” MacLeod spoke up.

Joe sighed. “Yeah, sure, as long as you guys don’t treat me as an invalid.”

Methos gave him a mock exasperated look. “You, invalid? The very idea. You are the height of health and youth, your virility the stuff of legends.” He would have gone on if Joe hadn’t wacked him with his cane, much to the amusement of the others.

After that escapade they all focused on the paintings, after all, that was why they were here, and they deserved their full attention.

_He needed to reach the oasis. He would find shelter and safety there. Looking over his shoulder he could see the storm clouds grow even high and darker. No one could outrun the anger of the gods. This storm would be bad. Maybe not even the oasis would be safe. Would not offer the protection it had in the past._

_Ahead of him he could see some of the others running too. They were gathering the herd as best they could, the animals half mad with fear of the coming storm. They needed to be kept safe at all cost, without their livestock the whole tribe would be doomed._

_He kept running and running but the oasis didn’t seem to come any closer. It never crossed his mind to stop running or find some other shelter. He needed to reach his tribe. Together they would be safe._

_Suddenly he was surrounded by sand. It was almost like running into a wall. Stumbling to a halt he tried to get his bearings back but he didn’t know which way the oasis lay anymore. Everything was sand. He started coughing as the sand started to get into his mouth and nose. Pulling his tunic over his face didn’t help much. Taking a few unsure steps he tried to see anything in the storm but it was of no use._

_Breathing go harder, he didn’t have any saliva left to spit the sand out again. He got tired, the buffeting sands exhausted him even standing still. He couldn’t breathe anymore and collapsed. His limbs moved weakly as he tried to rise again while the world grew darker and darker around him._

With a start Methos woke. Taking deep breaths he cast off the last vestiges of sleep. He didn’t know if what he had just dreamed had been his first death or his hundredths. It didn’t matter. The horror, the fear, he remembered all too well. The helplessness in the fact of nature, or the gods, that wasn’t something that went away, no matter how long he lived, or how much progress civilization made.

Turning around he watched Marique sleep peacefully next to him. He knew she had nightmares now and then too, all Immortals had them, but he was glad that at least tonight her dreams were undisturbed.

With a sigh he stood up and silently made his way into the kitchen for a cup of tea. He never liked to go back to sleep after one of his nightmares. Normally he would go for a run but the weather outside had taken a turn for the worse again and Methos didn’t fancy getting soaked to the bone again.

Siting in the dark kitchen he drank his tea and thought that it had been a night very much like this one when he had Marique for the first time.

Denmark, 1397 AD

He really, really hated ship. Especially during storms. And this one right now was the mother of all storms. Cursing in half a dozen languages, Methos made his way up on deck. Should the ship go down he had no intention of being caught in the belly of it like the rats.

An especially nasty wave nearly threw him back down the steps leading up to the deck but he managed to hold on and once he was outside he found a spot where he wasn’t in the way of the sailors.

“Go back down!” One of them shouted at him. “You could get injured!”

“So could you!” Methos shouted back, holding up his bag. “Better not to have to wait for me then!”

The man nodded and turned back to his work. In many parts of the world men of learning, especially of healing were looked on with suspicion and fear, right until they needed help from those men and the few women who dared to openly show their knowledge.

It was always a risk when it came to religious fanatics but Methos often travelled as a healer. In this instance he had pulled the rotten teeth of half the crew and mixed some tinctures for other, more delicate, ailments to buy himself the goodwill of these men.

They made in into a harbor, barley. The man mast was splintered, if not outright broken. As long as it wasn’t replaced they wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Where are we anyway?” Methos asked. He could normally navigate by the stars easily enough but the sky was still overcast and pitch black, and he hadn’t been in this part of the world in a while.

“Jutland,” the captain replied. “This must be Skagen, at least I hope it is.”

Methos nodded though the name didn’t really mean anything to him. His destination was Copenhagen, not this little fishing village in the middle of nowhere. “How long until we continue on our journey?” he wanted to know next.

The captain shrugged. “Hard to tell. Need to replace the mast and some rigging. A month or so.”

Methos suppressed an annoyed sigh. This wasn’t the captain’s fault. But he didn’t look forward to spend a month in this place. But going overland wasn’t really an option either and finding another ship taking him to Copenhagen here would also be difficult. “I see.” Was all he said.

“I’m sorry, truly. But at least they have good herring here.” The captain grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.

Methos forced a smile. Herring wasn’t his most favorite fare. Ah, at least he would get to stretch his legs a bit. If the storm ever let up, that was. Methos could see more storm clouds coming his way already.

At least he got a room in the only inn this place had. A small little thing, barely big enough for him to turn around but it was free of lice so that was something. And the herring was acceptable, not the best he had ever had, but fine. Methos was eating his dinner watching the storm rage outside when he felt the presence of another of his kind wash over him.

He should have headed for Africa, he thought resigned and with a sigh put his spoon down and reached for his sword under the table. At least in this weather no one would notice the Quickening.

The door opened a moment later and four people entered, three men and a woman. It was the woman who gave him a nod from under her hood before following the men to another table. They took off their sodden cloaks while the innkeeper put food and drinks on the table.

Going by their clothes and behavior they were merchants and known to the people here. The woman even wore a fine silk scarf covering her hair but even from his place Methos could tell that it was white. He was old enough to have met more than one albino in his travels. But he still couldn’t help staring at her.

Once seated the woman gave him a challenging look with deep, blood-red eyes.

Well, life for her couldn’t be easy. But she was beautiful of face and figure. And she did seem to have been able to get herself a husband considering the glances the oldest of the men was throwing his way.

Methos returned to this food. Maybe there wouldn’t be Quickening today after all.

The storm blew out around midnight. The silence woke Methos from his slumber. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept deep enough to not be woken by something like that. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one. There was a slight know on his door and a moment later the other Immortal slipped into the room. She was still dressed but had discarded the veil. Her long, snow white hair falling down her back until it reached her lovely ass.

“You’re very, very old.” She said quietly instead of a greeting.

Methos stared at her for a long moment, his hand lying on the dagger under the pillow. “Yes.”

“You did some very, very bad things.” She continued matter-of-fact.

“Yes.” That wasn’t hard to figure out. Immortal were many things, but not saints, not even Darius, who was still hiding in that little church of his ever since his enlightenment.

A smile suddenly played around her lips. “You also did some very, very good things.”

“Not by design, I assure you.” Methos told her.

“As you say.” She leaned against the door.

“How do you even know these things?” Methos wanted to know. Watchers were a possibility, though he went to great efforts to make sure they couldn’t tie his lives together. But someone still might have managed it. And what man wouldn’t want to just tell a beauty like her everything there was to tell?

“I just know. I know you are Methos, I also know that that is not the name you were born with.” She said calmly.

Methos had his dagger at her throat a moment later. “Who told you that?”

She ignored the blade, still leaning against the door as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I told you, I just know.”

“Who are you?” Methos asked. “Who sent you?”

“I’m called Marique, Maria in this life.” She replied. “And no one sent aside from need. But if it helps, Kanan mentioned you a time or two.”

“Friend of yours?” Methos had known Kanan for a long time, they had been friends for all of that and he knew the dark-skinned Immortal would never sell him out. So, she either had taken his head, which was possible, or she was his student, which might actually be worse, because Kanan’s students tended to have…gifts.

“Yes, also my teacher. He’s fine by the way, if a man having to keep a dozen wives happy can ever be called fine.” Marique told him with a small smile.

Methos lowered the dagger but didn’t put it away just yet. “Say I believe you, what do you want? What is your need?”

“I need you to save my husband’s life.” Marique told him.

They were on the run, she and her husband. There had been some argument with a local lord about whether Marique was up for sale or not. And the lord had his king’s ear. Therefore they decided that a relocation was in order. Unfortunately, the lord wasn’t one to give up easily. And that was where Methos was supposed to come in.

“Heart-wrenching story, really. But what do you need me for? Go and kill that guy and be done with it.” Methos said unconcerned. Female Immortals that couldn’t take care of themselves didn’t stay immortal long. And Marique didn’t strike him as the helpless type.

“And if it were only me I would have done exactly that. But now I have a husband, one who knows about my nature and doesn’t care. He’ll die if you don’t help us, and I’m not ready to give him up yet.” Marique explained.

“You’ll have to eventually. What does it matter if it’s now or in ten years?” Methos pointed out. This was not his problem and he was no reason to make it his.

“It matters to me.” Marique stated and suddenly there was steel in her voice that hadn’t been there before. How interesting, the pretty dove had teeth.

“Let’s say I help you, what’s in it for me?” Methos wanted to know. By the gods, he was actually considering getting involved in this. Was he getting senile in his dotage?

“The knowledge that you have done a good deed?” Marique smiled at him. And it was a very nice smile. He could understand why her husband didn’t want to sell her, but he was made of sterner stuff, he was not so easily swayed.

“I’m afraid I haven’t felt the need for that in a while now. How about you try again?” Methos suggested.

“How about six hundred years of not having to look over your shoulder and expect to find your brother there?” She offered, holding a roll of parchment up for him to see.

“No seer is that good.” Methos said, eying the roll with more hunger than he had expected. He always tried to know where the other three were, Kronos especially, but that wasn’t always possible. He had had almost run into Caspian not two decades ago. To not have to worry for six centuries, oh, but it was tempting. But could he trust her that the information was legit?

“I am that good.” Marique insisted. “Six hundred years, but then you’ll have to face Kronos, and Silas and Caspian. You will have to end it then, once and for all.”

“I’ve heard variations of that before. And I’m very good of avoiding them on my own.” Methos informed her.

“You are, but would this not make it so much easier?” Marique tapped the scroll against her chin. “Six hundred years.”

Methos sighed. Oh, but she knew with what to entice him, didn’t she? “Alright, I’ll help you. And I want another favor on a day of my choosing.”

Marique handed him the scroll. “Glad to do business with you.”

Methos read through it quickly and sat on the bed. “Now, tell me how far you want to go to protect your husband.”

Very far, that was the answer. Marique wanted Lord Haakon dead to make sure dear Jan could live out his life in peace. But thankfully she didn’t insist on anything complicated. The only real problem were his men, of which he had brought two dozen with them.

Delaying was the order of the day then. Even the old Immortal couldn’t take on two dozen armed men at once and get out with his head attached.

While Marique and her husband left south with their two guards, Methos busied himself with laying a few traps. They wouldn’t kill more than one or two of Haakon’s men, but they would slow them down and depending on how serious Haakon was about pursuing Marique, Methos would decide how many more to kill, before the mortal got the message, or just keep witling them down until Haakon wasn’t protected anymore and then kill the man himself.

As it turned out he had to kill every single one of them, because Haakon was obsessed with Marique and though Methos could understand that to a certain degree, he didn’t think the immortal woman worth that kind of dedication.

But he had made a deal and he would keep his end of it. Which was why two weeks later he found himself in the middle of nowhere facing Haakon and his last two men. And those two didn’t last long against the old Immortal.

“You’ll pay for this, you bastard.” Haakon hissed.

“Now, I may never have met the woman but I’m sure there’s no reason to insult my mother. I’m sure she was a perfectly nice person.” Methos said bored. The hunt hadn’t been as exciting as he had hoped. “Why don’t you just be on your way and forget all about the women of your dreams?”

Haakon spat on the ground. “I’ll have that red-eyed whore! No matter how many of her spawn she sends my way to stop me.”

Methos sighed. He had made a very generous offer but it seemed he wasn’t going to be appreciated for it. “Have it your way then.” With a flick of his wrist he threw a short knife and hit Haakon right into the throat, severing his windpipe and his spine. A moment later the mortal collapsed dead to the ground.

He caught up with them in Randers. Jan at least had the decency to thank him profoundly while Marique stood next to him, her eyes downcast. The perfect little wife, at least in public. She really must love that guy very much.

“Think nothing of it.” Methos finally waved the other man off. “It was my pleasure. And now I’m off to Copenhagen.”

“You could still travel with us for a while.” Jan offered.

But Methos shook his head. “Better not. But thank you for the offer.” He turned to Marique. “Remember our agreement.”

Marique inclined her head. “I’ll remember.”

Present Day

A couple of hours later Methos headed back to bed. He should at least try to sleep some more. He wanted to drive to Rome in the morning, Marique would follow in a few days. She had still some work to do here, while he still had some paintings to finish.

“Everything alright?” Marique asked still mostly asleep.

Methos kissed her on her shoulder. “Yes, everything’s fine.” It had just been a bad dream.

Signing the last painting, Methos stepped back. It was a good piece, if he said so himself. His agent and Signora DiNardo would be pleased. Taking the painting of the easel, he put it to the side with the others. He would call his agent later to come pick them up.

For a long moment Methos just stood there, discussing with himself whether to attempt it or not. He had tried it a few times before but nothing had come of it. Why should it be different this time? Only one way to find out. He put a fresh canvas on the easel and mixed new colors and set to work.

When Marique arrived a couple of days later she found Methos still at work, his hands as colorful as the canvas.

“May I see it?” she asked.

“It’s not done yet.” Methos replied, so focused on his work he didn’t even look at her. “I don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Does that matter?” Marique wanted to know, but she stayed on the other side of the canvas. If he didn’t want to show her yet, then she respected that.

Methos stopped for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.” Marique smiled and left the atelier He needed to get this out of his system, whatever this was. She could wait until he was ready.

It was done. Methos inspected his work. It was an explosion of color in the center. The oasis he had once lived in, so, so long ago. Before the storm had come and buried everything in sand. A storm that was brewing all around the oasis on the canvas, threatening and menacing, but the oasis was safe, for the moment, for all eternity.

“I think this is from my mortal days.” He said when he showed it to Marique, “Or early in my immortality.”

“It’s beautiful.” She said quietly. “It must have been hard to lose it.”

“I don’t even know where it is, or used to be, the desert claimed it a long time ago.” Methos sighed and shook his head. “I’m fooling myself, aren’t I? I’ve died in so many sandstorms over time. This was just one of them.”

Marique wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” she repeated. “And it’s yours, no matter if it was your first or your hundredth death.”

“I…sometimes I just wish I knew for certain. Not these flashes that could mean anything and nothing.” Methos said. “A bit of certainty would be nice.”

Marique gently kissed his cheek. “It’s okay, not remembering.”

End


End file.
